


Still Beating Loud and Clear

by Anonymous



Category: Dreaming of Sunshine - Silver Queen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aoba Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Medical Inaccuracies, Sign Language, Worldbuilding, acquired disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Aoba lives, but things are rarely that simple.
Relationships: Mitarashi Anko & Nara Shikako & Yamashiro Aoba
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020, Heliocentrism — a Dreaming of Sunshine recursive collection





	Still Beating Loud and Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflelate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflelate/gifts).



> this was a real joy to write and get to explore this world a bit more! thank you for the prompt and the opportunity to write for you, dear wafflelate. (also, feel free to interpret aoba and anko's dynamic as shippy or not! I didn't quite get around to the fluffy bit, but maybe next time.)
> 
> thanks as always to my partner for the beta and for listening to me ramble about a fandom they're not in.

Sasuke rolls his eyes as he listens to the all-too-familiar argument, lets it wash over him. _Look, it’s not my fault_ , he wants to say, but of course he’ll get laughed at. Excitement follows him like a puppy, even on the most mundane of patrol routes.

The argument breaks up, but not without muttering and eye rolls, when this shift’s supervisor starts heading over. Sasuke shrugs one shoulder at the unlucky genin who’s gotten stuck with the short straw, then beckons her to follow him.

The patrol route is familiar, and if Sasuke wasn’t already preoccupied with worry about Shikako he’d be dangerously bored. As it is, he’s running through a lot of speculation about how his teammate had gotten home, about the mission she’d been on in the first place, and how shaken she’d apparently been. He’s almost distracted enough to miss the shadow halfway out that’s longer than usual.

He lets his path wander over to the side, closer to the shadow, and the genin follows. The metallic tang of blood fills his nose out of nowhere, and he reflexively palms a kunai. Another two steps and – “Go to the hospital,” he orders the genin, springing into action. “Tell them we’ve got a patient in critical condition.”

Aoba, who’d been on that mission with Shikako, is lying in the grass with his throat cut. There’s absolutely no way he would have been able to travel with a wound like that. Sasuke crouches to check the man’s pulse, but his neck is too slick with blood for him to get a good sense of what’s going on. He’s still warm, which is a good sign – probably not dead yet, or at least hasn’t been dead for long. With minimal effort, he lifts Aoba’s limp form and starts back toward the village, boots sinking into the ground slightly.

“Hey!” he calls across the green, at a group of special jounin who are probably finishing their night of drinking. “Clear the way, I need to get to the hospital!”

The sight of Aoba bleeding out is apparently enough to sober them up. “I got him,” Anko says, and Sasuke relinquishes him to her gratefully. “Go back and see if there’s anything else where you found him.”

He likes Anko. She doesn’t ask questions or blame him, just gets right down to work, and he turns on his heel and sprints back toward the place where he’d found Aoba’s body, and begins a thorough search.

-

Aoba swims to consciousness, treading water in the milky soup of something like a hangover, except if a hangover weren’t anything like a hangover. _Shikako. The Jashinists. Fuck._ He listens carefully, but can’t hear anything around him that would indicate that the Jashinists were still there. It’s kind of strange that he can’t hear anything at all, actually, but he’d rather it be quiet than loud. His throat burns as he takes a breath, searing fire in a horizontal line. Still assessing his surroundings, his fingers twitch at his sides, seeking something to use as a weapon. He’d prefer it to be kunai (what can he say, he’s a fan of the classics) but just about anything will do. But he comes up empty, and decides _fuck it_ , it’ll be better to maintain the element of surprise.

He sits up, eyes shooting wide open. He’s – not in the temple. He’s not anywhere near the village, even, as far as he can tell. This looks like Konoha, and that –

“Shikako!” he yells.

Or.

Tries.

No sound comes out of his mouth, or if there is anything, he can’t hear it. It’s unnerving at best, and he reaches for his chakra, seeking something, anything, to defend against any potential threats.

Anko is next to him. Not a threat at all. She’s reading something, but as soon as he’s awake she snaps to attention. Her mouth is moving, but he can’t hear anything. It’s dead silent, with only maybe a low hum in the background.

Anko catches his hand as he makes a grab for the bedside table. That takes the wind out of his sails completely, and he lets her hold his hand up.

[Mission complete,] she signs, using the field hand signals. [Team is secure. You’re in the hospital. Badly injured. It’s safe to rest.]

He briefly considers the possibility of fighting to stay awake – he really wants to see Shikako safe – but he’s so _tired_. Rest sounds very good right now, and she did say the team was secure…

His exhaustion makes the decision for him.

-

Anko’s eyes are slipping closed when Aoba wakes up, but the fact that he’s moving is more than enough to catapult her into being on high alert.

He’s alive, and at least seems to be mentally intact. That’s a miracle twice over, as far as Anko’s concerned; she’d seen how much blood was soaking into the ground when the Uchiha kid had been carrying him in.

“Hey,” she says, blocking him from doing something, maybe trying to hit her over the head with a flower vase. His mouth is open, and he’s trying to scream, and no sound is coming out. Tsunade-sama had said he wouldn’t be able to talk, said he might never be able to speak again, but even with that foreknowledge, it’s actually really scary to see it first-hand. “Hey!” she says, louder, but he doesn’t seem to hear her.

[Mission complete,] she signs to him, and some of the wild look in his eyes begins to fade. [Team is secure. At hospital. You’re badly injured. Safe to rest.] She feels Aoba briefly try to pull on his chakra, but he abandons it quickly and relaxes back down onto the bed, eyes sliding back closed as his breath returns to a more even cadence.

When she’s sure he’s back to sleep, she stands up, finally releases his hand, and heads out to get one of the healers.

The relief she feels is… not negated, exactly, but tempered by Aoba’s reaction. She doesn’t have enough time to sort that whole mess out before Shikako comes barreling down the hallway. “Is he awake still?” she demands shakily, and Anko’s breath catches in her throat. She might be a special jounin, but right now Shikako still looks very much like a kid.

“No,” she says, too brusque to be gentle and too gentle to be brusque. “He woke up and then went right back to sleep. He needs the rest, kid. You can come with me to talk to the healers, but you can’t go in and see him.”

Shikako almost pouts. “Was he – okay?” she asks instead of arguing.

Anko pauses. “I think so,” she says. “For a couple seconds I was a little worried. But he went back to sleep and he’ll be better next time he wakes up. He’s come home in one piece, as far as I can tell.” She takes a breath and looks, really looks, at Shikako, at her hunched shoulders and clenched fists. “Are you still out on the mission, Shikako?” she asks carefully.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m okay. I just didn’t know if he – we – I saw him die.” She shudders, and Anko wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know how he got here and I don’t know how he’s alive, and I want to make sure he’s really okay.”

“He’s never going to be the same. Tsunade-sama says he might never speak again,” Anko says gently. “But he’ll survive it. He’s a shinobi. We adapt.”

Shikako nods shakily, then again, more firmly. “We adapt,” she echoes.

-

The next time Aoba wakes up he still can’t hear anything. But there’s soft sunlight warming the left half of his body, and this time he doesn’t reach for the bedside table. He opens his eyes to the Hokage standing next to the bed, and Anko and Shikako hovering at the door.

“Shikako,” he calls out. Says. Whispers. Tries.

His hands fly up to his throat as the Hokage turns toward him. “Tsunade-sama,” he tries, and nothing happens. His breath comes fast and shallow, and he reaches blindly for his still-returning chakra.

She puts something – his medical chart, probably – back down on the bed and says something to Anko and Shikako. Anko puts an arm around Shikako’s shoulders and very firmly steers her out the door. Shikako looks like she’s protesting, but Aoba can’t hear any of it.

Tsunade hands him a scroll and looks him dead in the eye. [Don’t touch your throat,] she signs, slow and deliberate so he can’t pretend he misunderstands. [Keep your head. I’ll be back tomorrow.] She’s using mostly field sign, but there’s some odd grammar in there. It takes a second for him to recognize it as actual Konoha sign language. In that time she’s already halfway out the door, and he tries fruitlessly once more to speak, as he watches her leave.

Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids again, pulling his shoulders back down to the bed, and he barely flicks the scroll open one-handed before he collapses. Eyes half-closed and squinting to account for his missing glasses – he checks the bedside table again, just in case. Still no dice – he settles in to read for a bit.

What’s on the page wakes him right up. _Yamashiro Aoba, Special Jounin. Admission to Konoha Hospital after classified mission. The patient was found by Uchiha Sasuke on a routine patrol route…_ Aoba scans down the page quickly, not because he knows what happened already (he doesn’t, he really really doesn’t, and he’s going to have to go back over that later), but because he needs to see what the prediction will be. If he was going to die, he’d probably be aware already, but there are still more than enough unknowns to scare him.

_Recommendation: Upon release from hospital, Yamashiro should complete extra sensory training in order to account for loss of hearing and/or speech. Do not return to active field duty without express permission from medical professionals._

Aoba shuts his eyes.

This could be a lot worse. He could be dead, first off.

Being deaf isn’t a problem. There are plenty of shinobi with some level of hearing loss from combat, and plenty more who were born hard of hearing. Sensory training will account for that easily enough, and he’s dedicated enough to pick it up. No, Aoba’s not worried about being deaf.

What he’s worried about is losing his ability to speak. Being social – drawing connections, figuring things out via social deduction – that’s his _thing_. And he’s going to have to significantly change the way he lives, almost every single aspect of his life, going to have to relearn how to do… the thing he does. _The_ thing he does.

It’s not a disaster. It’s not, and he knows it isn’t, but he’s really not having a good time right now, and adapting is going to be hard.

He’s a shinobi.

Adapting is what he does.

-

The next time Aoba wakes up, Shikako is staring at him very hard.

“Hi,” he tries to say, and then remembers that he can’t talk.

She flashes a brilliant grin at him anyway, though it’s got a dark shadow behind it – and not in the Nara way. “Hi,” she says, and then starts using field sign to tell him something that Konoha’s field sign doesn’t really have words for. He catches “seal” and “imminent” and possibly also “urgent,” but he stops her before she gets too far into it.

[Slow down,] Aoba signs at her, deliberately steady. [Field sign not meant for this.]

She takes a breath, recenters herself, and then signs, [Working on seal to help you. Almost done.] Then she pauses, frowning slightly. [Progress imminent,] she adds after a moment.

Aoba raises an eyebrow at that. [Repeat,] he signs, just in case.

Shikako sighs, then scribbles something on a corner of his medical chart. When she hands it to him, he only lets himself linger a moment on the chart itself before looking down at what she wanted to tell him. _I’m working on a prototype of a seal that I can put on your ear so that it functions as a replacement for your damaged eardrums. I hope I can push it in R &D pretty quick, but I don’t know._

He swallows hard, then grabs the pen from her hand and scrawls his own message back. _You don’t need to do that. Work on more important things first. But thank you._ He might be tearing up just a little bit, but he’s not about to let Shikako see that, so he shifts in the bed and fusses with the sheets until he’s sure he’s not about to cry.

She looks at him again. “Aoba,” she says, and he can lip-read his own name well enough, so he exaggeratedly mouths “Shikako” back at her, and she laughs. It’s not enough to chase the darkness behind her eyes away, but Aoba isn’t surprised at that.

[Were you injured?] he signs, suddenly serious.

She sobers quickly, shaking her head no. [Superficial,] she signs. [No long-term damage.]

Aoba pats her hand and smiles.

-

He’s alone next time he wakes up, and also feels a lot more like a human person again. His chakra reserves are full, and he’s finally able to stretch out his legs and arms. Aoba is fairly sure he shouldn’t be getting up, but he’s sorely tempted, especially with the sharp smell of disinfectant stinging his nose and making him feel like he’s about to sneeze. Getting away from the hospital sounds ideal right about now, but as he sits up, one of the nurses peers into the room suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Aoba.

Aoba gives a little wave and a smile (though honestly, it feels grotesque to stretch his mouth that way with the pull of the stitches on his neck), and resigns himself to another few hours here at least. Now seems like a good time to finish reading the medical report on his own condition that the Hokage had left on his bed earlier; hopefully it’ll help him piece together the exact timeline of events.

Scanning over the pages, he finally locates where he’d left off.

… _found by Uchiha Sasuke on a routine patrol route on the northwest side of the village, approximately two hundred meters from the nearest building. Uchiha carried the patient back to town, where he handed what he believed to be the patient’s corpse to Mitarashi Anko, and returned to the scene to investigate. Mitarashi carried the patient to the hospital, where she assisted with triage until medic-nin were able to stabilize the patient’s condition._

_Attending doctors treated a number of wounds, most prominently a single clean slice across the throat. Patient was also treated for blunt force trauma resulting in extensive internal bruising on the torso as well as lesser contusions on the upper legs and arms. Traces of foreign energy in the patient’s chakra system were also present, though flushing the system proved effective._

Aoba drops the report in his lap. This… this is new. He’s been injured before – who hasn’t? But _traces of foreign energy_? _A single clean slice across the throat_?

Carefully, he brings a hand up to his throat, brushing fingers over the stitching there. Dark flares of pain rush out from the point of contact, trickling down to nothing somewhere in his chest. Aoba grits his teeth for a second, before he realizes that in this case it’s counterproductive. Instead, he takes a long, slow breath, and braces himself to do it again.

This time, he gets a much better sense of exactly how deep and long the gash in his throat had been. His vision fuzzes out at the corners as he puts pressure on the stitches, and he figures that’s probably enough for one day. Exhausted, he lets himself slump back down onto the pillow, and closes his eyes just in time for someone to poke their head in the door.

The same nurse from before stands with his hands on his hips. “I know you’re awake,” he tells Aoba despite Aoba’s best effort to pretend sleep. “Don’t go exploring while you’re alone.” He turns and leaves, thankfully, and then Aoba stops having to feign sleep and slips into the real thing.

-

“Bwuh,” Aoba says, when Shikako wakes him far too early in the morning to count as day. She looks almost as exhausted as he feels, simultaneously listless and restless, and she’s accompanied by Uchiha Sasuke.

Of course, when he says “bwuh,” what comes out is more like a hiss than a word.

“Hi, Aoba,” she says. He can’t hear it, but she’s considerate enough to face him head-on, and context clues provide enough information for him to read her lips. Sasuke gives him a solemn nod, and he’s a little grateful that he doesn’t have to interpret two people talking to him at once.

He gives her a little wave. [Situation report,] he signs, because there’s not a lot of small talk included in most field sign classes.

[Progress imminent,] she signs. [Be on alert.]

Aoba frowns at her. That… probably isn’t actually what she means, but he spreads his chakra-sense out as far as it’ll go anyway. His range and sensitivity is pathetic compared to Shikako’s, but to be fair, most people’s chakra-sense is pathetic compared to Shikako’s. He’s not about to win any awards, but it’s not bad – he wouldn’t be a special jounin if he was incompetent – though it’s kind of pointless, when she’s here.

Her face doesn’t quite open up the way it used to, when she grins. [No,] she signs. [Observe.]

He observes. Slowly, carefully, she starts drawing out a seal on a square of parchment she’d brought with, and he keeps observing.

Ten minutes into observation, he makes eye contact with Sasuke, who shrugs even before Aoba can ask a question with a quirk of an eyebrow. [Observe,] Sasuke signs, with a twist to his mouth, and Aoba chokes back a snort of laughter that will both give his impatience away and probably hurt.

Refocusing on Shikako is easier, though, now that he knows Sasuke is just about as lost as he is. After another moment, she blows the ink dry, frowns at the parchment, and hands it to him, miming the placement of the seal on his neck, just below the ear.

He narrows his eyes at her. [Function?] he questions.

Sasuke leans in and murmurs something in her ear. She turns to look at him, rolling her eyes, and says something back, too fast and too angled for him to read her lips. They go back and forth for a few moments, and then with a huff, Shikako leans forward and snatches the parchment back.

He lifts an eyebrow, but lets her take it easily. [Issue?]

She rolls her eyes again. [Medical seal.]

Aoba nods, realizing her mistake. She’s already made an error once, which had been smoothed over only through her clan connections and the usefulness of the seal in question, and really can’t afford to do it again.

With that disaster narrowly averted, the atmosphere in the room grows heavier. Aoba does his best to maintain the upbeat attitude he’s known for having, but Shikako’s frustration is palpable. After another attempt to redirect and revive the conversation, which falls flat despite Aoba’s best efforts, Sasuke ushers Shikako out of the room. [Reconnaissance update soon,] he signs.

-

He gets let out of the hospital sooner than he’d expected. It’s nice to not be confined anymore, and he starts training again, in a way he hadn’t done since he’d made chuunin. If he’s not going to be able to leverage his people skills the same way again, he needs to compensate with his physical prowess.

He’s never been a stellar taijutsu fighter. And from the looks of it, he’s not going to become one any time soon. But Anko shows up, sometimes, and watches him or joins in, even though he knows she’s training a genin team and probably needs every second of peace she can get. It’s nice to have the company, nice to know that she’s got his back even in this small way, and he starts searching for a favor he can do for her to repay it.

When he’s not shadowboxing or practicing the hand seals for techniques he’d preferred speaking aloud, Aoba finds himself avoiding most of his old colleagues outside of the workplace. It’s hard to communicate, and he doesn’t want to spend any more time than he has to talking – “talking” – with people. It’s really not that he doesn’t want to – he misses the social gatherings, misses the special jounin nights, misses the casual joking around on breaks, even – but it’s more effort than it’s worth.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching people using Konoha sign language.

As always, there are a few children in school who sign better than they speak. He stares at Iruka and watches his hands as he signs, speaking aloud as he does, and that helps. The fact that Iruka is instructing the children, and they’re replicating his words, is a lot easier to process than signing in isolation. Sure, he feels a tad foolish, sitting there and watching Academy classes, but it’s better than actually approaching someone.

Obviously, that state of affairs couldn’t last. After one afternoon of classes, Iruka approaches him before he can leave. [Hello,] he signs to Aoba.

[Hello,] Aoba signs back tentatively.

[How are you doing?] Iruka asks. His brow is furrowed, as if he’s not sure how much Aoba understands.

It makes Aoba strangely edgy. [Situation normal,] he replies, using field sign.

Iruka smiles at him, nods, and leaves. It’s not until later that Aoba realizes that it’s the first real social conversation he’s had since his injury, and even later that he realizes what hadn’t sat right with him about it – that he wasn’t worried about making a fool of himself either.

He chats with Iruka, mostly superficial stuff, about the weather and the food and everything else small, every afternoon. It’s growing to be not just a routine, but something he can look forward to as well. Every once in a while, Hakui, who had been one of the medic-nin who’d initially treated him when he was brought in, stops by as well. She’s fluent in Konoha’s sign language, and seeing her conversations with Iruka are just as enlightening as talking to Iruka himself.

Slowly, Aoba realizes he’s actually learning a new language.

-

Sitting at his desk feels less like a homecoming than he’d like. Even though there are plenty of other ninja who’d been injured on missions, the reality of being on this side of it – of being the one who has to deal with people changing how they talk to him, how they look at him – feels grim. Maybe it’s because he’s not exactly a field ninja, maybe it’s because he can’t escape it, maybe he’s just hypersensitive to any changes, but he feels like everyone is watching him and being just a little too _careful_ around him.

On the other hand, maybe it’s because he can’t communicate the way he wants to – the way he used to.

Aoba scrawls a note for his future self across the top of the pile of paperwork, then flips through a folder for the reports on Hidden Cloud’s trade negotiations that he’d missed during the time he’d been gone. The conversation bouncing around the room, including almost everyone except him, hasn’t escaped his notice. He knows, just because he’s been, you know, existing as a socially responsible person, that asking what’s going on will only bring the mood down. And it’s good, it really, genuinely feels good, to watch his coworkers relaxed and joking, to the extent that it’s possible during the preparations for war.

So Aoba keeps his head down and practices lipreading. It’s not perfect; Aoba knows from his Academy days that lipreading is never perfect and can usually only approximate meaning. But it’s better than nothing, and Aoba has a feeling that he’s going to get very good at distilling the intent of a conversation from watching.

At the moment, they’re making plans for lunch. Probably. At least, he’s pretty sure they’re arguing about who’s going to pay and who’s going out to get it, based on who and what he can see. Normally, he’d be in the thick of it, arguing right along with them and jokingly threatening to leverage his rank to make one of the genin fetch ramen for the whole room, but even if he had been able to form sounds, his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth with unfounded anxiety.

The awkwardness he’d been expecting comes when Shiho turns to him expectantly. From her wide eyes and the general tenor of the conversation, he’s pretty sure she’s asking him what he wants for lunch. But he’s not certain, and either he’ll make a fool of himself by answering the wrong question, or he’ll bring the mood down regardless by not speaking.

He’s waited too long to answer. A hush settles over the room, one that he can feel even though he can’t hear it, the air in the room growing still. The chakra in the air suddenly feels heavy on his skin in a way he’s only felt in half-remembered snatches of the Jashinist temple, and for a moment his defenses slam up full force at the sensation before he forcibly reminds himself that he’s back in Konoha. Awkwardly, he tries to cover the surge of chakra with a cough, but that actually hurts more than he’d expected. [Use your judgement,] he signs. _Field sign isn’t meant for this,_ he thinks, not for the first time.

The atmosphere remains subdued at best, but Shiho does an admirable job bringing the mood back up. Her smile, broad and genuine if a bit shaky, is contagious, and presumably someone has agreed to get lunch, because everyone puts their heads down and gets back to work.

Aoba takes a moment to write Shiho a brief apology note. He’s definitely not using it as an excuse to avoid looking at the reports, because that would be ridiculous. _Shiho, I apologize for that. Thank you for asking and I appreciate it, but in the future you don’t have to include me in lunch talk. It’s hard for both of us to remember my new limits, and I don’t want to embarrass you any more than necessary._ He pauses, then draws a quick doodle of a face with a tongue sticking out to help soften the joke. (It’s something Shikako’s done before, and while he can’t draw to save his life, he really likes the concept.) Folding it into a quick and dirty swan, he flicks it over to her desk before pulling out his files again.

He has no doubt that more than one of his coworkers noticed his sudden reaction earlier, but they’re either tactfully ignoring it and letting him have this moment, or they’re going to confront him about it later. _Focus._ Aoba puts it out of his mind forcefully, and lets his mind while away at the question of what to say should anyone approach him while he focuses back in on his work.

As boring as Hidden Cloud import-export and tariff reports might sound, Aoba’s actually genuinely interested in comparing trends over time. Even if this turns out to be nothing relevant to the war itself, he’s learning a lot about what Cloud thinks it will need to stock up on for a longer conflict. So, engrossed in his work as he is, he’s pleasantly surprised when Shiho sets a bowl of ramen on his desk. [Objective met,] she signs.

He grins at her, and it starts to feel real.

-

After his shift at the tower, Aoba wanders down to the training field where Anko’s genin team is training.

[Hi,] Anko signs when she sees him. [How are you?]

[Hi,] he signs back. It takes a moment before it clicks that she’s not using field sign. There’s a sudden burning in the back of his throat as the realization hits, that she’s actively gone out to learn how to communicate with him better, and he swallows hard. [Just wanted to see how your team is doing.] He’s still stumbling over his words, but Anko’s not doing any better, and it makes him more confident.

She grins. [We’re doing great. We’re getting ready for…] Anko’s brow furrows slightly as she searches for the sign. [Contest.]

The chuunin exams, Aoba realizes. [Your team will do well,] he says.

[You should join us,] Anko tells him. [Practice with us.]

He’s shaking his head even before she finishes signing. [No, I can’t.] He spreads his chakra sense out, trying to make sure none of her genin approach. [No. I can’t do that. I’m not ready.]

[Not ready?] Anko echoes. She’s obviously aware that he’s dealing with the aftermath of his injury and losing his hearing, but her skepticism is cutting. [Are you scared?]

[No.] Aoba pulls his chakra in, defensive in a way he doesn’t want to examine. [Not scared. Just need to practice.]

[Practice with us,] she insists.

[I need to leave,] he signs, and the fact that he heads out very quickly is obviously completely unrelated to wanting to avoid the rest of this conversation.

-

Aoba’s remedial sensory training doesn’t begin auspiciously. He’s sitting with Kiba, who’s one of Shikako’s cohort, and who doesn’t know Konoha sign language. They’re confined to field sign, which isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it’s a little frustrating when he’s gotten used to talking more easily with Hakui, Iruka, and Anko.

[Delay?] Aoba asks Kiba. The dog – Akamaru, if he remembers right – pushes his nose against Aoba’s hand, seeking pets. Aoba adjusts his glasses with one hand and absently starts stroking Akamaru’s head with the other.

Kiba just shrugs. He looks like he’s about to say something, but checks himself at the last moment, instead signing, [Unknown. I will investigate.] With that, he hops off the bench they’re sharing, and runs to fetch his mother.

Akamaru, predictably, abandons Aoba to run after Kiba. Aoba isn’t exactly upset at the dog for leaving, but he can’t say he’s not disappointed. (So he’s a dog person. So he’s considered trying to get his hands on a summoning contract like Hatake Kakashi’s just so he can pet a dog whenever he wants. Honestly, who hasn’t thought about that?)

He straightens up as Inuzuka Tsume marches into view. A casual slouch is all well and good for returning to work, but not when he’s about to spend a significant amount of time training under the leader of the Sensory Squad.

[Your assistance is appreciated,] Aoba signs to her.

He can’t hear the snort she gives, but he can see it just fine. [Come here,] she orders. [Let’s begin with some basic exercises.]

Aoba spends four hours running through every sensory exercise he knows, and then some more. Then he spends another hour doing his best to copy a few new things Tsume shows him, with varying levels of success. Once again, he’s awed by Shikako. For her to have made special jounin with a sensory specialization at her age, and with little to no formal training, and then to survive training with Tsume is no small feat.

When Tsume finally releases him from training, he’s exhausted. Normally, at times like these, he would head to a pub with friends and spend the evening talking and drinking, but the very circumstances that put him in this position to begin with prevent that. Instead, he goes home and thinks about Anko’s suggestion that he practice with her team.

-

[Help,] Anko signs when she sees him next.

Aoba half-expects that peculiar stillness in the air to arise, to feel the chakra in the air pressing down on him, for his self preservation instincts to kick in and his defenses to lock into place. But it doesn’t happen. There’s no real danger – not that there had been a real danger when Shiho had asked him about lunch – and no overwhelming sense of smallness, nothing to unlock the hidden box of the events in the Land of Hot Springs.

[Where?] he asks anyway.

Anko half-smiles. [Gai-sensei decided that I’m making a push for jounin.]

Aoba pulls his sunglasses down his nose to make his comically wide eyes and slack jaw unmissable. [Gai-sensei decided that? How unlike him.]

She wrinkles her nose at him. [When Gai-sensei thinks you’re training more, you kind of have to start training more.]

He nods in agreement. [True. I can’t help you then.]

Anko is barely hiding a smirk as she replies, [No, you can. If Gai-sensei is going to push me to be a jounin, then the least you can do is join me.]

This time, his shock is genuine. [ _Why_?] he asks incredulously.

Her lips curve up, exposing her teeth in a grin that’s equal parts vicious and joyful. [I refuse to suffer alone,] she says.

Aoba can’t say no to that, really, so he heaves a sigh and makes a rude gesture that has nothing to do with sign language. [I thought you were using the kunoichi club for your jounin push.]

Anko shrugs. [Not exactly. Partly true.] She squints a little, searching for the sign to communicate exactly what she’s looking for. [I told that to Gai-sensei, but he didn’t believe me.]

[Because it wasn’t true,] Aoba says.

[ _Partly_ true,] she insists. [I was considering it.]

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. [So what is your plan if it’s not the kunoichi club?]

[Don’t know yet,] Anko says, shoulders dropping slightly. [More training. After the exam at Mist we’ll see. How is training going for you?]

[Four hours of exercises,] he tells her, and rubs at his eyes tiredly. It’s nice, to be able to just chat with her – even though their vocabulary is more limited than speech simply due to the fluency difference, it feels much more comfortable to engage with other people the way he used to.

She giggles. [Is Tsume a better sensei than Gai?]

[Don’t ask that,] he tells her, and is pleasantly surprised to find himself smiling genuinely.

-

Aoba falls into a routine that’s actually not as different from before as he’d thought it would be. He goes to work. He goes to training. He spends time with Anko. He worries about the war. He goes to work and does it all over again.

Shikako doesn’t spend as much time in Intel as she used to. In retrospect it’s obvious, that she’s more engaged with her clan and helping with war operations in other ways. But Aoba’s emotions are getting weirdly stuck in concern for her. Despite the fact that their time in the Land of Hot Springs had been short, and the panic of discovering the Jashinists had been shorter still, he keeps slipping back into that emotional state like an old familiar glove. He worries about her, as if those hours of fear had permanently left a mark on his psyche.

He doesn’t admit that to anyone, not even Anko. It feels like a moral failing somehow, a weakness he isn’t prepared to address even in the privacy of his own mind. Instead, he pretends he’s not touched that Shikako has also started practicing signing to talk to him, and ignores the fact that she’s inviting him to things instead of the other way around now.

Regardless, he’s getting used to the new routine. He’s mostly stopped instinctively trying to speak now, and the silence of his lost hearing is more familiar than eerie now. Visiting the hospital for weekly check ups is a pain, but he doesn’t mind so much; he gets to see Hakui and chat with her, and every week she’s surprised at how dedicated he is to learning more sign language.

He doesn’t tell Hakui that he’s going stir-crazy without being able to talk to people. Field sign isn’t made for long-term, every day communication, and it’s unreasonable to expect his social circle to pick up Konoha’s sign language just for his sake. (Somewhere deep in his heart of hearts, he wishes they had. Buried even deeper, he feels guilty for the wish.)

What he does tell Hakui is that he intends to be field-ready in the next month.

[Are you certain?] she asks, brow furrowed just slightly. [Don’t push yourself too hard.]

Aoba shakes his head. [I’m sure. I’m going to start training again.]

[With Anko?] Hakui guesses, and favors him with a small smile at his surprise. [Don’t pretend I don’t know that you’ve been spending most of your down time with her. She’s picked up some sign, so I’m sure that’s helpful for you.]

[Yes,] he admits. His uncertainty is less begrudging and more self-doubt – this is the first he’s talked about returning to full active status, and honestly, also the first time he’s admitted it to himself. [She’s been asking me to join her team practices for weeks.]

[Why haven’t you?] Hakui asks.

Aoba doesn’t want to answer, so he just shrugs. [Shikako says war ops is getting even more focused. Konoha is going to need every shinobi possible, and I don’t intend on not playing my part.]

She looks at him for a long, drawn-out moment. [Konoha needs shinobi. But Konoha needs shinobi to decrypt enemy communications just as much as Konoha needs shinobi to go out and fight.]

[If I can do both, that’s even better,] Aoba says, and stands up, effectively ending the conversation. [I’m going back to the tower.]

[See you later,] Hakui says, and Aoba hurries back to work.

-

In the morning, he gets up before dawn and stretches, warming his muscles up with the calisthenics he’s slacked off on since his return home. It feels good to work out the tension in his shoulders and chest, and now that it’s stopped hurting to push anything stronger than a barely-there sigh out of his lungs, he can actually get back to conditioning. Once he’s sure he’s not about to make a fool of himself in front of Anko – and the genin team, obviously, but Anko’s seen him at his best, and he doesn’t want to see her reaction to him failing miserably – he heads out to join them at their training field.

Predictably, he’s the last one there. Aoba doesn’t mind being the last to arrive, especially because it means Anko’s probably had time to explain to her team that he’s joining them, as well as his hearing loss. As he walks in, he feels four sets of eyes scanning him, sizing him up. He eyes them each in return.

Anko he knows well; she’s one of his close friends, and he’s been on missions with her. She looks as careless as ever, but there’s a hint of something behind her eyes that Aoba is pretty sure comes from anxiety she won’t admit to. He’ll have to confront her about that later. It’s probably about the upcoming chuunin exams – he knows her well enough to realize he’s going to have to coax her out of getting in her own head about her team’s performance. But she looks sharp, the lines of her face shadowed in the early morning light, and he likes seeing her this way.

Sakura is another one of Shikako’s age-mates, and he’s seen her around the hospital before. By reputation, she’s incredibly smart and quick on the uptake, and he’s willing to bet that in another world she’d take Shikako’s place on Team 7. Her hair is drawn back into a neat queue, and her stance is subtly confident. It takes a second for him to place where he’s seen it before, but it finally hits home when he remembers Sakura is also the Hokage’s apprentice. There’s something of Tsunade in the set of her shoulders, and it stokes the fire of hope for the future that burns low in his chest.

Yakumo – everyone knows _of_ her. Being a key cog in the rumor mill machine, Aoba has carefully curated a few of the rumors that abound about her, most recently trying to soften some of the worst of it. Shikako hadn’t asked him to, but he knows she has a soft spot for Yakumo, and besides, the less tension and doubt that’s present in the rank-and-file Konoha field-nin about the skills or stability of their fellow shinobi, the better, especially with the oppressive imminence of the war looming over them. She is holding a small palette in one hand, fiddling with it ever so slightly. The more he watches, the more he’s convinced that she’s putting on a bit of a show, trying to get him – or people in general – to underestimate her.

Isaribi is a relative unknown. As a newcomer to the village, Aoba doesn’t have the benefit of her childhood acquaintances or familial ties to pull on for intelligence. (Shikako expressed to him once that she feels strangely guilty for referring to information about friends, or friends of friends, as intelligence. Aoba has no such qualms himself, but he still thinks about her statement every once in a while.) What he does know is that Isaribi is primarily a water-based fighter. It’s not the most convenient affinity to have as a Konoha ninja, but it’s not like she’s a sand fighter. Like Sakura, she looks quietly confident, silent – well, as far as he can tell – and standing in the back with arms crossed and brow furrowed. She looks like she’s trying to cut him apart with her eyes, to take him apart and figure out exactly what he’s about to do.

[Aoba,] Anko signs, bringing him abruptly back to the immediate. [Are you ready?]

[Three on one seems fair,] he says, and grins. If it were brighter he’d be wearing his sunglasses, but as it is he settles for merely adjusting them on top of his head.

Anko rolls her eyes at him, but smiles. [Well, you better start running. I’ll play judge in case something needs to be done, but don’t count on help from me just because we’re friends.]

Aoba throws a hand up to his brow in mock horror. [A betrayal!] he signs dramatically, and sees Yakumo laugh and Sakura smile ou the corner of his eye, and counts it as a success.

-

After the fight, which is, frankly, a lot closer than Aoba would like, he and Anko walk into town together. [When are you going to spar with me?] she asks.

Aoba shrugs. The tension that’s been building up in his shoulders over the past weeks had all come out in the fight, but now that it’s over, it’s starting to return. With Anko it’s not so bad, but as they approach the center of Konoha, and Aoba starts thinking about returning to work and having other people see him, he can practically feel his muscles start to tighten unconsciously. [When I won’t make a fool of myself,] he replies.

Anko gives him a look. No, actually, she gives him a _look_. It’s almost the same one she turns on someone suggesting she share food with them, or maybe when someone asks her if she thinks Ibiki is cute. The heavy sarcasm and disbelief is tempered a little by her fondness for him, which is honestly a relief – Aoba’s not dumb; the full force of Anko’s glare on him is never a good thing – but it’s still quite cutting. [You’ll make a fool of yourself no matter what,] she tells him.

Her response is immensely reassuring. He’d been steeling himself for her to make some comment about having to work harder, about how the sensory training is the best thing he could be doing, about how he needs to have more faith in himself, that the taunt actually makes him laugh. He’s pretty sure his laughter now is more grotesque and sobering than anything else, but, well, _he_ can’t hear it, so there’s really no point in trying to change.

Anko cracks a grin as well. [You could never take me. I just want to know when I can start kicking your ass again.]

Aoba wrinkles his nose at her. [Remember that mission in Rice Fields when I saved your ass from a trap you didn’t spot?] he shoots back. [You were a lot less cocky then.]

[The thing you’re forgetting is that the only reason I was in that trap was because you got us in a sticky situation!] she argues.

He doesn’t bother suppressing the smile that breaks across his face. [Which wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just followed my instructions in the first place!]

They banter back and forth, needling each other’s most minor insecurities, and Aoba almost forgets about returning to work. It’s almost funny to think about, that he’s embraced his position in the intelligence division as his defining characteristic for so long and now it’s one of the most stressful things in his life. He knows, he _knows_ , that he can be just as effective with signing as speaking, but the hell of it is that he’s trapped in this loop, the refusal to be anything less than perfect when he signs in front of others feeds the lack of practice feeds the imperfection feeds the lack of practice.

So really, all he needs to do is stop trying to be perfect.

Fat chance of that.

[Why don’t you come by after work,] Aoba says to her before he can think better of it. [We can spar then.]

Anko’s eyebrows nearly shoot up to her hairline. Aoba doesn’t want to examine the way her surprise stings a little, so he doesn’t. [Are you sure?] she asks, despite the eagerness with which she’d pressed him earlier.

[I’m sure,] Aoba tells her.

-

Shikako is busy enough with war ops and whatever sort of Shikako problems she has that Aoba doesn’t see her much anymore. Still, he feels a low-grade irritation that he can’t be around her more. It’s irrational at best and insulting at worst, but he really does feel like he needs to protect her. Oh, sure, he knows full well that she’s a better field-nin than he is. He knows she’s slated to become Konoha’s next sealing master. He knows she’s the twin sister of the Nara clan heir and will be shouldering part of the huge responsibility of running a clan. But from the day he’d met her, he’d taken a genuine liking to her, and with that comes a feeling of responsibility.

Among ninja, friends are few and acquaintances many, and Aoba is no stranger to that. At the same time, the mentoring aspect appeals to him strongly – he knows he’s no Kakashi, and frankly he doesn’t want to be, but he also knows he’s got a lot to teach Shikako that Kakashi can’t. Her experience and skill in the field is – okay, maybe it’s a little intimidating that she’s less than half his age and still probably way better than him at _so many things_ , but that just means Aoba is uniquely positioned to impart new knowledge.

Whatever the narrative Aoba weaves for himself to account for his soft spot for Shikako, he likes talking to her. She looks equal parts exhausted and excited as she slides into the booth across from him. Their breaks don’t usually line up, but today is convenient enough for both of them that he’d offered to buy her lunch. [So how’s the war going?] he asks, the irony plain in his face.

Shikako shrugs, diving into the bowl of rice. [Same as always,] she signs, one-handed and awkward. [Can’t say a lot.]

[Of course.] Aoba takes a drink of his water, and rephrases the question. [How are _you_ doing?]

There’s a pause that stretches just a little too long. [I’m okay,] Shikako tells him. [I think I’m really okay.] She looks a little melancholy, but he’s pretty sure she’s serious, considering the certainty she uses when she signs.

Aoba smiles at her. [That’s good,] he says, and means it. [I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Anko says she’s taking her team to the chuunin exams that Hidden Mist is hosting.]

[Yeah!] Shikako smiles back. [Sakura and Yakumo both told me. They’re going to do great. I won’t be surprised if the whole team comes back with chuunin vests.]

[I’m sure they will,] Aoba says, because he has confidence in the three genin (how could he not, when they’d nearly taken him out) as well as Anko’s instruction. [I wanted to let you know,] he starts, and then feels his throat seize, almost like he’s flashing back to those horrifying moments in the Jashinist temple just by thinking about it. [I wanted to let you know,] he says again, determined, [how proud I am of you for making it out of that temple.]

Shikako’s brows draw down, and she suddenly looks much older than she should. [I didn’t save you,] she says. Her hands shake ever so slightly; Aoba wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking so intently at her. [I got myself out, but not you. I wish I could have done better.]

Aoba spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture that he probably doesn’t need to do. [I made it, though. I’m here, aren’t I?]

Her mouth twists a little, an aborted smile that doesn’t quite fully form. [I watched you die,] she says. [I don’t know what happened to bring you back, but it’s impossible. I saw them cut your throat and you only showed up a few weeks after I got back.]

His breath catches. If he could hear, he’s sure his next inhale would sound raspy. He’s been desperately trying not to think about that any more than he has to; while it’s a huge concern (whether as a potential asset for future operations or as a threat were another village to weaponize it against them), Aoba is mostly preoccupied with, you know, adjusting to his new mode of living. Almost unconsciously, his fingers curl into his palms, seeking the comfortable weight of a kunai. [I’m still here,] he repeats.

A horrible sick twist builds in his stomach. It’s possible that Konoha doesn’t think he is the same Aoba who left on that mission to the Land of Hot Springs. While unusual, it’s not unheard of for ninja villages to send look-alike spies into their rivals’ ranks, imitating the look and sound of a shinobi lost in battle or similar. This doesn’t tend to last long, because the second a qualified chakra sensor comes near the spy, the cover gets blown, but with the tension between Konoha and Cloud, Tsunade might be thinking she’s better off taking precautions. Unless Aoba is dead, and he isn’t Aoba, and simply had willingly undergone some sort of memory transfer procedure… That’s ridiculous. He shakes his head violently. One more time: [I’m still here.]

He’s good enough to mask his expressions. He knows Shikako can’t tell what he’s thinking, but she can certainly tell she’s hit a nerve. [Sorry,] she signs tentatively.

Aoba shrugs, a twitchy, impatient thing. [I should get back to work.] She waves as he stands up to leave, abandoning his half-eaten lunch.

-

He pins a note to the tree next to where he and Anko were supposed to meet. _Something came up. Sorry to ditch you. Talk soon._

Instead, he goes home and sits on the floor and stares at his hands.

Aoba takes a few breaths and calms his elevated heart rate. _Think about this,_ he tells himself.

Logistically, it would be unwise and foolhardy for Cloud to spend unheard-of resources to use a shinobi to infiltrate, at best, the middle levels of Konoha’s bureaucracy. Aoba has no illusions of his own importance; no ninja can afford to in this world. Not to mention that it’s nearly impossible to replicate a shinobi’s chakra signature so thoroughly that a Sensory Squad special jounin (like Shikako), especially one who knows him well (like Shikako), would be unable to sense a difference. He’s used a few different techniques since he’s been back, and not just with the fight with Anko’s genin team. The extra control exercises and sensory training he’s undergone are no more or less difficult than he expects them to be, which would probably be the case if he’d been trained as a Cloud ninja, and there’s considerable scrutiny on him during those sessions.

Aoba tips his head forward, letting the sunglasses slip off his nose and onto the floor. He doesn’t hear the clatter, but he feels a bit of the tension in his shoulders break as they hit the ground. His fingers curve in the shape of his name, and he feels better.

Also, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been let back into work at all if Ibiki and Inoichi hadn’t been convinced his appearance was accurate. While Aoba’s certainly not the most important person in the cryptography division, he’s also a special jounin, which isn’t nothing. He has access to sensitive information, enough that it could be weaponized against Konoha if Cloud were able to successfully get a dupe through. And the mysterious circumstances surrounding both his disappearance and reappearance are shrouded in enough mystery that he’d be under close observation to begin with.

Finally, the dam of emotion breaks, and Aoba lets himself slide down the wall until he’s lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He kind of wants to yell, if only because he can’t hear it, wants to pound on the floor and the walls and make himself known and heard and felt and present, but he doesn’t. He also kind of wants to cry, but he doesn’t do that either. Instead, the waves of emotion that crest and break over him manifest physically in shaking hands and chattering teeth, vibrations singing in his bones.

Obviously, this is when Anko pushes open his door.

[Hi,] he signs, hands still aflutter.

[Are you, like, okay?] Anko asks.

[I told you, something came up,] Aoba says, letting just a trace of his annoyance slip through to his face. When she narrows her eyes at him, he sighs. [I’m fine, okay? You didn’t have to break down my door.]

A smile teases at the corner of her mouth. [What else are friends for?]

-

Two hours later, he’s convinced her that no, there’s nothing wrong with him, and she’s run laps around him on the training field, and his body and mind ache from processing the day, and they’re sitting on a low-hanging branch of a tree like schoolchildren and not twentysomethings.

[It’s good to have you back,] Anko says after a long period of stillness. She’s shifted so they’re in each other’s line of sight, which is something small but significant that he really appreciates.

[I’ve been back,] Aoba signs in return.

She shakes her head. [Not really. Not training.]

He shrugs. That’s fair, actually. [I’m back now. And I have tips for your genin,] he adds, a little too late to be anything but an afterthought.

Anko raises an eyebrow. [Oh? Spill.]

He ticks off the points on his fingers. [Sakura needs to stop worrying so much about her form and focus more on what’s effective. She’s very good, but she doesn’t really have a lot of field experience. Isaribi leans pretty hard on her water jutsu, which isn’t a bad thing, but she’ll need to consider other techniques when she can’t draw moisture from the air or ground. And Yakumo probably figured this out herself, but when she tried to overwhelm me with sensory input, the noise part was wasted.] Aoba shrugs carefully so as not to jostle the branch too much. [They need to work on adapting techniques on the run in the moment. Otherwise, I’m really impressed. Maybe you’ll make a real jounin-sensei someday yet,] he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Anko is nodding along until the end. [Hey!] she signs, leaning forward to try and smack his hand. [I don’t see _you_ training any newbies!]

Aoba laughs. [That’s because I’m not a sucker,] he tells her, and neatly falls backward into a gentle swing, knees hooked over the branch, as she dives at him.

This second spar is more casual than the first. He feels better, less scrutinized, more open and relaxed, and it shows in his performance. In the context of a friendly matchup between two people with a deep mutual respect, rather than a momentous ‘first time back’ session, Aoba is much more comfortable with his body and chakra.

Anko lands a solid hit on his left thigh with a kick, and he comes back with a whirlwind of punches, trying to distract her from the genjutsu he’s preparing. She flips over his head, grabbing onto a tree branch to launch herself further up into the sky, and then he releases the chakra he’s holding and activates the auditory genjutsu. It sounds like an alarm at the Hokage tower, localized enough that it shouldn’t draw attention to their spar, but effective enough for Anko to hesitate for a critical moment. Aoba doesn’t bother following her up the tree, but instead waits with bated breath for her to land. The moment she does, he strikes out, hand impacting against her ribs and knocking the wind out of her.

She dismisses the genjutsu a half-second later, and he ducks away from the gust of wind she sends after him. Then it’s his turn to flee up to the branches, using a few of the tricks he’d picked up in sensory training to suppress the noise and kinetic energy from his movements. Anko turns slowly, concentrating on locating him, and the second her back is turned he drops down, tackling her. She puts an elbow into his face, and he chokes a little, but, not ready to admit defeat, he pushes back with a surge of earth that separates them with a wall.

Panting, he dismisses the wall after a moment, and Anko is standing calmly on the other side as if nothing had happened. Her breath is coming fast and hard, but otherwise she looks perfectly casual. [Is that it?] she asks.

[Yeah, I think so,] he says.

She nods. [That was much better than the first time.]

Aoba shrugs. [I felt better this time. That was some pretty good taijutsu,] he comments.

[I’ve had to practice, training my team,] Anko says. [I didn’t know you favored genjutsu.]

He flashes a grin. [I’m starting to lean into my advantage,] he says. [As long as you can hear and I can’t, I’ve got a whole extra area I can exploit on you that you can’t turn back on me.]

[Gai-sensei would be proud,] Anko tells him.

Aoba pretends the tightness in his throat is from the scar, and not emotional in nature. It doesn’t really work.

-

Anko leaves for Hidden Mist, along with her genin, a week later. Aoba doesn’t wish her luck; neither she nor her team need or want it, and frankly, it would be insulting to insinuate they did. Instead, they have beers sitting shoulder to shoulder at a pub, and watch a few chuunin playing speed games. [I’ll see you when you get back,] he says.

[Count on it,] Anko tells him with a grin. [I’ll be kicking your ass again as soon as I’m home.]

He wrinkles his nose at her and pushes his sunglasses up. [Fat chance.]

As she walks out, Shiho joins him. [Good evening,] she signs tentatively.

[Good evening,] he replies, and it takes a moment to realize why she’s so hesitant. She’s signing in the civilian language he’s been using, not field sign like she and the others do at work. [Have a seat. I’ll get you some cider.]

[Thank you,] she signs back, and smiles.

He smiles back, and the warmth of home in his chest swells until he thinks he’ll explode. [So? How’s that girl you were pining after?]

Shiho blushes, and Aoba hides his face with a sip of beer. Yeah, his skills sure do translate between speaking and signing.

He’s a shinobi.

He’s adapted.

**Author's Note:**

> I am no medical expert, and I'm very aware that this scenario isn't really something possible. nonetheless, I beg your indulgence for my handwaved details in order to bring in some more about Aoba's experience as a newly-disabled ninja. Also, my knowledge of JSL is next to nothing; I've mostly glossed over the details of the signs themselves, but what description there is was based on some research I did and my existing ASL knowledge.


End file.
